


Nothing Says Love Like Being Rescued From Mortal Peril

by waywardmuse



Series: Moments Between [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Original Character Death(s), after season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardmuse/pseuds/waywardmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least, that’s what Stiles tells herself on nights like these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Says Love Like Being Rescued From Mortal Peril

**Author's Note:**

> With all of the Girl!Stiles and Girl!Derek on Tumblr, I was inspired :)

Being kidnapped isn’t a new experience to Stiles.

She’s pretty sure that says a lot about her life and choice in friends.

Being kidnapped by rogue hunters after leaving the house of a hunter where she was collecting info on the rogue hunters is bit of a weird one, even after a year and a half of werewolves.

So when she wakes up, in a warehouse, an ache in her arm, tied to a chair with one of the rogue hunters staring down at her, she feels like she has the right to groan.

Apparently, Jeremy Bishop, doesn’t agree, and kicks her chair.

Stiles isn’t Black Widow with the ability to kick ass while tied to a chair and barely manages to keep up right with a lot of leg flailing. “Seriously, dude, I’m the sheriff’s daughter. You don’t want to do this.”

“Does your sheriff father know you’re fucking a monster?”

Stiles glares at him. Her werewolves aren’t monsters and her Vcard is annoyingly intact. Not that she ist going to tell a hunter _that_. She glances around the dimly lit warehouse, seeing guns, guns, a machete, and more guns but not the newbie hunter Jeremy picked up after _putting down_ —in hunter’s terms; normal people would call it _brutally murdering_ —a pack in Neveda. “Where’s your buddy anyways?”

“He got cold-feet.” Jeremy shakes his head. “Can’t have that in a hunter.”

Jeremy stares at his knife with satisfaction.

Stiles wants to throw up.

Stiles has read enough on Jeremy that cold-feet doesn’t mean the newbie hunter got to go home and live a normal life. Jeremy Bishop goes above and beyond a split from Mr. Argent’s shiny Code, complete with a disturbingly long body trail for a hunter of just three years. No wonder Mr. Argent handed over this guy’s information before bodies started popping up.

Except all that information is sitting in her backpack across the room, not being useful in anyway, while the psychopath is having a moment.

“Why the fuck did you cut me anyways?” Stiles cranes her neck to look at the slash down her arm. “I was unconscious! I move around a lot in my sleep, sure, but I don’t think that would count as a struggle.”

Jeremy grins. “Needed to leave a few clues in your room. You get to do humanity a favor, playing bait for the monster you’re screwing.”

“ _That’s_ your plan?” Stiles can understand the bait part. The desire to wait for a distressed werewolf? That’s just insane. Hunters all seem to have a few screws loose—probably a job requirement—but common sense goes along with the Argent’s rarely followed Code.

“It works. Wolves are dumb.” Jeremy pets the side of his knife and Stiles gets distracted for a moment; this guy may be going for the gold in the creepy Olympics but he has nothing on Peter. Stiles is oddly comforted by that fact, if Jeremy managed to out-creep Peter, she would be really fucked. “One of the dumb wolves will come running and I’ll get to take down a beta before going for the alpha. The question is, which one of the wolves made you his bitch?”

 “You really didn’t do your homework. Like you get credit for noticing I hang out with a pack but that’s it.” Across the warehouse, Stiles sees red, red eyes that she used to fear and, now, red eyes that make her smile. She looks at Jeremy, her smile stretching into a smirk.  Jeremy might be prepared to take a teenage beta head-on but not Dereka. “The alpha is _my_ bitch.”

Jeremy manages to tilt his head in confusion before a black wolf is on Jeremy, teeth at his throat. The bite is quick and clean. Stiles flinches at the _crack_.

Dereka shifts in front of her and Stiles is more surprised by the nakedness than she should be (hello, full on wolves don’t wear clothing). Stiles gets a nice view of her ass. She turns around, giving an even better view and Stiles begins her mantra of _eyes on face_.

“Bitch, huh.” Dereka bares sharp teeth and, with her hair down and wild, she looks like an evil witch out of a horror movie.

Still hot. Creepy, because Stiles can see streaks of blood and dirt up her arms, but unfairly hot.

“Technically, you are female—” Stiles dips her gaze down and then forces herself to look back up.  “—and canine-inclined so…yeah. Bitch.”

Dereka grins, the expression less violent but still predatory and full of threats. “And _your_ bitch?”

“Very mine.” Stiles squirms in the chair, glaring at Dereka for not untying her yet. Tied up in front of her naked girlfriend seems like a scene out of one of her fantasies…if she ignores the dead hunter on the floor.  Which Stiles is desperately trying to do; it’s not often Stiles gets to see _all_ those muscles and curves bare. “How about we—“

Dereka shakes her head. “Two months until you are eighteen.”

“Was I suggesting an eighteen and up activities?” Stiles tries to look innocent, even though Scott has told her repeatedly that her ‘innocent look’ is too mischievous to be useful.

Dereka raises one of her eyebrows.

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying. You’re all nakedy in front of me and that does things to me.” Stiles pouts. “Can you at least untie me?”


End file.
